I'm not much of a fanfiction writer, but I had a fight in my head and thought it might be worth a laugh to give it a go.
The hideous abomination wielding six wicked blades which protects the eldritch child lets out an ethereal screech as what could blasphemously be called life leaves its body. After many excruciating deaths and rebirths, I have finally slain the protector of the source of the nightmare. I reach deep inside my soul and let loose a victorious roar and raise my firearm to the blood moon in triumph. The eldritch monstrosity passing as a child in the nearby pram has stopped screeching its grotesquely human wails, but I know that the final strike must be made. I walk over to the baby stroller, an item that no doubt once held a much more precious cargo than the monster that would cause the downfall of humanity. As I approach, I pull my hat over my eyes. I don't need to see its assuredly grotesque form. I have seen enough horror for several lifetimes; I will not allow myself to lose what remains of my mind in the final minutes of my torment. Through the blindness, I raise my Holy Blade, its giant scabbard increasing its destructive power by orders of magnitude, and swing with all my might. A sickening crunch and a visceral wet sound tell me that the deed is done. As it draws its last breath, the world around me ripples and tears and I feel myself falling. I feel my body twisting and distorting, and yet I feel no pain other than the disgusting feeling of being in a state that should not be. After what feels like several eternities, yet surely lasted no more than a minute, I feel my feet touch solid ground. The area that I find myself in is like nothing I have seen in all my time in the hell known as Yharnam.
The area is constructed with neither the grandness nor the unkemptness of locales that I am used to. The roof of the building is far too close to my head for this to be a structure of any importance, yet the place is kept in a reasonably tidy state. From this I can assume that the building is some sort of residence, but it is unlike anything I have seen in any city. The floor seems to be made of carpeting, but the carpeting is seemingly the actual floor, rather than merely being placed on it. The walls are made of an unidentifiable material, although it is not a strange one. What strikes me as strange about the walls are that they appear to be made of one slab of whatever material it is made from, yet it is clearly not stone. There are several items in the room that I don't recognise, such as the black box that contains moving pictures. Normally, I would be quite blown away by it, but recently I have become a bit more jaded to strange goings on. I turn around and see a window. I peer outside, and this strange going does indeed blow me away. It is night in this world, too, but the immensely tall buildings that litter the city are very easily visible due to the lights shining from the seeming hundreds of windows. There are lamp posts covering quite a good area of what seems to be roads, but I cannot see the flickering of flames within them. I confirmed that this place was not of my world when I saw a large sign next to the road with the phrase "Welcome to Miami!" inscribed in large pink letters. I have travelled far and wide before Yharnam trapped me in its seemingly endless cycle of misery and torment, but I have never heard of a place called "Miami". I turn away from the window and open the door to the rest of the building.
My attention is immediately drawn to the large number or corpses littering the ground. They are all wearing matching white suits, and more importantly, do not seem to be affected by the bestial plague that has infected most of the humans in Yharnam, lending further credibility to the fact that this place is far from my world. Upon closer inspection of the carcasses, I realise that these people have been quite viciously killed. Most have their heads mashed into the ground, as though repeatedly struck with a blunt object. One man seemed to have his neck slit and his head twisted the wrong way around. Another corpse was cut clean in half, and what I assumed to be the blade that caused the damaged was wedged into another corpse's skull. Some of the more intact bodies seemed to have bullet wounds, which suggested the work of a hunter. Although, the rules are clearly different here, so I decide to treat that observation as dubious. I see another body with a horribly burnt face, the wet look of the ground surrounding the unfortunate soul's head leads me to believe that he has had boiling water poured on his face. A sense of panic rises in my throat as I notice that the water is exuding small amounts of steam. The water clearly hasn't completely cooled down yet, which leads me to believe that this horror was afflicted quite recently, and that the monster that caused this massacre may still be nearby. I see a trail of blood leading to the door on the opposite side of the room, confirming my suspicion, and I decide to cautiously follow it.
The blood trail leads to a set of stairs which then lead to a rather large rectangular room. At the end of the hallway, I see a man staring at me with cold eyes, and holding some fashion of wooden club and what appears to be a chicken's head. Upon closer inspection, it seems to actually be a mask. He is wearing some sort of light blue trousers made of a strange coarse material, and some fashion of overcoat with a large "B" on the chest. He had blond hair, and looked fairly unassuming. In any other circumstance, and ignoring his strange attire, I think I may have just forgotten about him after concluding whatever business we would have had. He hasn't done or said anything, but I can immediately tell that he means to cause me harm, even if I forget about the bodies that he is most likely responsible for. Just in case, I bring my giant sword over my shoulder, ready to strike should it come to that. I take another look at his wooden club, hoping to gain a better understanding of his combat strategy. It is unlike any design I have seen. It has no handle, but is instead one single piece of wood carved into a cylindrical shape, with the handle being the end that is carved into a cylinder with the smaller radius. With my sharp eyesight, I make out what looks to be a company brand burned into the combat end of the club. I can faintly make out the words "Louisville Slugger" in the logo. The weapon seems fairly non-threatening, but I don't let that lull me into a false sense of security. Father Gascoin was armed merely with a blunderbuss, and axe, and his animal ferocity. I certainly know better to assume certain victory. He brings the mask to his face, and I flinch reflexively. After he puts on the mask, he looks at me, and I feel a strange sense of fear. This man, with his wooden club and odd clothes, has given me a sense of fear more so than the likes of Amygdala.
Without telegraphing any sort of change in stance, he charges at me with staggering speed. I raise my blade overhead to meet his charge, and swing as he approaches. He feints to the side, dodging my strike, and I feel a sense of panic. He swings his club into my side with full force, and I feel my ribs buckle and break with the effort of absorbing such a ferocious blow. What speed! He puts even Eileen to shame! He pulls his club back and prepares for an overhead attack. Ignoring the pain in my side, I step back, narrowly avoiding the possibly fatal blow to my head. As I do this, I swing my blade around, attempting to slice him clean through the middle. He ducks under the blade while dashing forward, and in the blink of an eye he is only centimetres away from me. He strikes my jaw with the underside of his weapon, and I feel my jaw fracture. I land a solid kick to his solar plexus in response. I could not put all my force into the kick, so I don't think I did significant damage, but he is briefly staggered, which allows me to create some much needed distance. Quickly, I reach into one of my many pockets and retrieve a couple of blood vials. I crush them in my hand, and feel my blood repairing my injuries. I still have plenty, but I feel that I cannot rely on them considering this man's speed and relentlessness. I also realise that this large blade is clearly useless against a foe like him. While still maintaining distance, I swing the heave blade at him, but let go mid arc. The sword flies through the air, a spinning blade of death. Predictably, he manages to duck under it, but I use this opportunity charge at him. I tackle him to the ground, sit on his chest, and deliver a drop heel kick to his right hand holding the vicious club. I hear fingers break, and he lets go of the club. I draw the saw cleaver that was tied to my back, and raise it to strike, aiming for a cut across the neck. He intercepts the blow by hitting my right forearm with his left, and he grabs my collar with his broken hand. He either felt no pain, or simply didn't care, and his grip was a strong as if the fingers were intact. He pulls me in and uses his other hand in tandem with his broken one to flip me over his head. I land in a roll and quickly stand up, but by the time I am upright, he is already charging at me with his club again. I draw the pistol at my side and take aim, hoping to incapacitate, or at the very least distract this monster. As he notices the pistol, his strategy seemingly undergoes a radical shift. He quickly dashes to the side through a door, anticipating the inevitable bullet that would be flying his way. He closes the door behind him.
This was an extremely odd thing to do. I run up to the closed door. Normally, going through such a choke-point would be suicide, but since he closed the door, he can only be either to the side that the door swings away from or directly in front of me to catch me off guard. As I put my hand on the knob, the door bursts outwards, toppling me to the ground. I curse my luck, how was I to know that the door opened both ways? With barely enough time to realise what happened, the masked man is already on top of me, club ready to reduce my face to a sticky wet pulp. I swing my saw cleaver, and as I do I pull the trigger on the top of the handle, swinging the blade into its extended form. The blade hits the club with its serrated edge, chipping it but not breaking it. The club, however, is thrown off balance and misses my face completely. As he put his whole body into that strike, I use his momentum to deftly fling him over my head in a reversal of a previous situation. Again like in the previous situation, he rolls into the fall and stands back up.
I quickly stand up and turn around, and I see him draw a firearm. Normally I would be able to take a hit from something like that, but this one put me on edge, as I had never seen one of its design before. It was coloured a strange light neon blue, with bits of purple occasionally creating lines in the design. It was extremely small, but strangely long, and the grip was oddly vertical and extended past the part of the grip that he was holding on to. I quickly reach into a pocket and grab the Old Hunter's Bone. As my fingers touch it, I focus on the bone's power, and feel myself getting lighter. The masked man shoots at an extremely fast rate of fire. Seemingly faster than a Gatling gun! But thanks to my intuition and the Hunter's Bone, I was faster still. Time seems to slow down, and I see the bullets flying at me. As I duck and weave through the bullets, I notice that the bullet's composition is completely unlike the quicksilver bullets that I employ, while also being unlike the lead balls that non hunters use as ammunition. I decide that the implications aren't important right now. Quicksilver or no, this weapon will tear through me if I don't act fast. But just as suddenly as the onslaught started, the stream of bullets stops, and I instead see the gun itself flying towards me. Under normal circumstances, I most likely would have been able to dodge, but the absurdity of this level of aggression momentarily stunned me, and I feel the weapon connect with my forehead. The world around me starts going in and out of focus, and I realise that I am concussed, which is quite a rare injury for me. By the time most beasts have struck my skull, it has either been removed from my body or crushed. I realise that this blurred vision will cripple my combat prowess, and I certainly won't get another chance to use my blood vials. I need to end this as quickly as possible.
I vaguely make out the shape of the masked man rushing at me, club raised above his head. I raise my gun, and with no certainty of an accurate shot, I fire. Fortune favours the desperate, it seems. My bullet connects with the hand holding the club, and I see a red blotch near his hand indicating to my disorientated perception that I must have blown some fingers off. This doesn't slow him down in the slightest, he doesn't even let go of the bat with his remaining fingers. I shoot once more, and this time he finally staggers and his charge slows. This is it, my last chance. I throw my weapon down, and rush towards him as fast as I can. I pull back my arm, and with inhuman force borrowed from deep within, I pierce his stomach with the palm of my hand. In a practised motion, I twist and pull my hand out with the intent to remove as much viscera as possible. In the heat of the moment, I don't realise that this inhuman monster, who assuredly is not bothered by pain, is also swinging his club directly at my head. I feel it connect with a sickening crunch, and I feel my jaw shatter and teeth come loose. However, his club snapped from the force of the impact. It must have snapped along the cut that my saw cleaver caused to the club. The blow lifts me off my feet, and I spin through the air, landing with a dull thud on the ground, facing up. Although he has dealt me this crippling blow, I know that I have won this fight. My jaw may be mostly separated from my body, but I can survive this, while I very much doubt that he could possibly survive with most of his meat coating my attire, and his weapon broken.
As I think this, the masked man still refuses to fall. Still clutching his broken, useless weapon, he shuffles weakly towards me, even with a clearly defined hole in his stomach. The head trauma from the earlier concussion and the violent jerk of my head in the blow that destroyed my jaw has disoriented me to a degree that I can barely tell which direction is which, let alone move to one of those directions to retreat. He is now standing over me, but he surely can't be alive long enough for him to cause any fatal damage. Clearly, I had learned nothing, and have underestimated this monster. With all his might, and a little help from gravity, he thrusts the splintered end of his club into my chest. It is an extremely painful wound, but it is thankfully shallow. He still manages to stand up again, and a wave of terror rolls over me as I see him raise his foot over the embedded club. With all of his might, he stamps down on the club, and in my last moments, I feel it puncture my heart. In the few seconds of life I have left, I see him collapse on top of me, and stop breathing. In a very short time, I follow his example.
As per usual, I awaken in the Hunter's Dream, the accursed place that I have come to envision as the nexus of all my suffering. As per usual, the doll is there to greet me. As per usual, the messengers in the bath eagerly await me. What was not usual was the fact that the building that old man Gehrman typically resides in was set ablaze. I question the doll, and she tells me that the dream is coming to an end, and that Gehrman is waiting for me at the foot of the great tree. Whatever awaits me, I know that I will not forget that bloodthirsty masked man for as long as I live.
I hope you liked the "story". All criticisms great and small are welcome. I may do more fights if the reaction to this is positive enough, and I would be happy to take requests if you feel I should.